


Instructor Bob’s Annual Summer Campout

by skoosiepants



Series: The Saddle Club AU [3]
Category: All American Rejects, Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-21
Updated: 2008-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skoosiepants/pseuds/skoosiepants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s tragic, really, how long William had avoided Monroeville Farms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Instructor Bob’s Annual Summer Campout

**Author's Note:**

> More boys and horses!

It’s tragic, really, how long William had avoided Monroeville Farms. Literal _years_ , since he’d always been the best of friends with Travie and Gabe, but he’d never understood the appeal. Horses sort of smell, and they tend to shit everywhere and expect you to clean it up.  
  
That, of course, was before he met Instructor Bob.  
  
*  
  
“He’s your riding instructor,” Siska says, leaning back against the stall door.  
  
“He’s an authority figure,” William agrees, and he’s not sure if that makes the situation better or not, but it certainly doesn’t dissuade him. “I’m legal, you know.”  
  
“He’s _Instructor Bob_ ,” Siska stresses, and William pats his shoulder.  
  
“Your circular arguments won’t sway me, dear Sisky.” Instructor Bob is sexy and gruff and interesting, and he doesn’t seem to mind that William is absolutely hopeless on a horse.  
  
William likes horses and all - _now_ ; now that he’s had a chance to hang around the stables for going on a year – but horses apparently don’t like him very much. He rides Poncho, because he’s the only one that hasn’t tried to bite him. Although William suspects he’s thrown him more than a few times, but Instructor Bob just says he has horrendous balance. Like, awesomely terrible balance, and he always tells him that in a voice filled with awe and disbelief.  
  
William’s girlfriend is a peach about it, too, although they aren’t technically dating anymore. Which is a plus, since otherwise she might not be a peach about the whole thing, and William honestly can’t help his infatuation. Instructor Bob has magnificent arms and thighs.  
  
“Christine says I should just go for it,” William says, adjusting Poncho’s saddle.  
  
Siska looks horrified, stricken even, for half a beat, and then his lips twitch up into a small grin and he chuckles, shakes his head. “Please, dude, that’ll be hilarious, yeah.”  
  
“Fuck you,” William says, but he’s pleasant about it. William tries his very best to always be pleasant, and people reward him by being pleasant in return. It’s the loveliest concept he’s ever come up with.  
  
“Laps, girls,” Instructor Bob calls out as he walks down the corridor.  
  
“Shit,” Siska hisses. “You’ve made us late, asshole.”  
  
“Watch this.” William pokes his head out over the stall door. “Instructor Bob, Poncho’s upset. I’m soothing his savage nerves and letting him chew Siska’s pants.” Poncho has a denim fetish. It’s sort of endearing, when he isn’t ruining William’s best jeans.  
  
Bob says, “Five minutes, Beckett,” without turning around.  
  
“He _loves_ me,” William whispers to Siska.  
  
Siska flips him the bird, but scurries off to finish up with his own mount, and they make it into the arena with half a minute to spare.  
  
*  
  
Every year, Instructor Bob leads a troop of hale and hearty Monroeville Farms riding students into the woods for an overnight camping excursion. William eyes the sign-up sheet with no small amount of trepidation, but really it’s an excellent opportunity to show Bob how incredibly resourceful he is. Or, failing that – because William and the out-of-doors are not particular friends, he knows this – it’s an excellent opportunity to simply flirt.  
  
A small person skirts up and William looks down to see not a small person at all, but Greta. Who is small, but small because of age and not stature – like Patrick or Frank – and therefore not quite considered a person. It’s perfectly sound reasoning.  
  
“Are you up for camping out with Instructor Bob?” William asks her.  
  
Greta stuffs the ends of her ponytail into her mouth and blinks up at him. Greta has the unfortunate habit of becoming mum around William, even though he knows she can chatter on even more than little Brendon Urie. Gabe swears it’s because he towers so high above her, although William suspects this is not the case at all, considering Greta is perfectly fine around Gabe and Gabe is eleven feet tall.  
  
William stares at Greta and Greta stares back. Her plump cheeks redden and her mouth pulls into a smile around the shank of hair she’s chewing on. She’s honestly adorable. If William ever planned on having progeny, he’d want them all to look exactly like her.  
  
“Well, _I’m_ going to go,” William finally says, nodding. He grabs the pencil that’s hanging off the posted list on a string and signs his name with a flourish.  
  
Greta giggles.  
  
“Lovely talking with you, Miss Salpeter,” he says, then pats her precious head and wanders off. He doesn’t want to be late for class.  
  
*  
  
Gabe is one of William’s very best friends, but he’s being disturbingly unsupportive. It’s something William would’ve expected from Sisky, the scamp - this business of insulting William’s _abilities_ , his willingness to withstand the elements for the sake of true love - but certainly not from Gabe.  
  
William purses his lips and smoothes his hair behind his ears. “This one says it performs admirably in temperatures well below thirty-two degrees.”  
  
“Dude, it’s summer,” Gabe says. He slides in between William and the display of sleeping bags, grasps William’s arms. “Bill, Billiam, you’re making a horrible mistake.”  
  
“You adore it when I make horrible mistakes,” William points out. Gabe isn’t mean or even very rude, but he does enjoy a good show. William never holds it against him, because Gabe is almost as lovable as William is himself. Almost, but not quite. It’s all in the eyes.  
  
Gabe stares at him for a long moment, speculative. Finally, he says, “I do indeed. Carry on.”  
  
“Thank you.” William inclines his head. “Now, what else will I need? Flashlight, teapot, pickax? Bug spray? Flares?”  
  
“Flares,” Gabe says, nodding. “Condoms and lube.”  
  
“You’re thinking ahead.” William presses a finger to Gabe’s temple. “Excellent.”  
  
“I’m a firm believer in being prepared,” Gabe says, “even if it fosters your grand delusions.”  
  
“Especially then,” William says. He hefts a plain black sleeping bag off the shelf and bemoans the fact that the delightful Hello Kitty one isn’t designed to accommodate his long bones.  
  
“Especially,” Gabe agrees. “Now let’s talk about bears.”  
  
*  
  
Brendon and Spencer are wee and adorable and made of chocolate pudding. William absolutely adores it when they hold hands and rub noses. He sighs, cupping his chin in his hands, elbows perched on the paddock fence.  
  
“Staring is creepy,” Sisky says from beside him.  
  
“I can’t help it,” William says. He really can’t. William wants exactly what Spencer and Brendon have, only with perhaps not quite so many fuzzy nicknames. There’s nothing wrong with the occasional pookie bear, of course, and Brendon calling Spencer kitten in public will never not be hilarious in all possible ways, but William is not the fuzzy nicknames sort. William prefers straightforward monikers, like the Butcher.  
  
And speaking of Butcher. “Where’s your better half this morning?” William asks.  
  
Sisky turns a fetching shade of pink. “Bill.”  
  
“Oh, don’t you _Bill_ me, little Adam,” William says. He knows that tone of voice. It’s the tone of voice of someone in deep, deep denial. Sisky and Butcher are boyfriends in every sense of the word, except for part where they don’t have sex. It’s tragic. William suspects perhaps one or both of their nether region parts aren’t functioning properly, although Sisky insists that best friends don’t actually have to sleep with each other to be best friends. Which is nonsense. Gabe will totally back William up on that one.  
  
Sisky huffs. “He’s already tacking up Hildy.”  
  
Hildy is a wonderfully spiteful mare that hates everyone – not just William, which is a novelty – except Butcher. Butcher owns her outright, and it’s one of the rare few times Gerard’s actually sold a stable horse to a student, because it’s not like she’d let anyone else ride her anyway, the cantankerous old nag. William scowls, even though it creates unattractive lines around his mouth. Hildy has bitten him hard on more than one occasion. Butcher seems to think it’s funny.  
  
“Billy.” Sisky pokes him in the arm. “We need to get ready for class.”  
  
“Yes, I know.” William is less enthusiastic for class on days when Ray is teaching them. Ray always tells William he’s doing a good job. He hardly ever insults him, or laughs when he falls off Poncho. It’s unsettling, and William already misses Instructor Bob terribly, and class hasn’t even begun.  
  
Siska rolls his eyes and plucks at the sleeve of William’s shirt. “Come on.”  
  
*  
  
Instructor Bob stares at William with his dreamy blue eyes. “What?”  
  
“It’s a valid concern,” William says. There should be an emergency plan in place, William knows, just in case something goes horribly, horribly wrong.  
  
Instructor Bob blinks. “I guess we’d make a splint and you’d double-up with me or Ray until we made it back down to the bottom of the mountain.”  
  
William nods. In theory—in theory, that sounds fine. Doubling-up with Bob will always sound fine. However, that doesn’t exactly ease William’s mind. “Have you considered a helipad?”  
  
Bob’s brow creases. “What?”  
  
“Sisky’s allergic to bees, you know. I won’t have him dying of anaphylactic shock.”  
  
Instructor Bob actually looks concerned at that. “Well, maybe he shouldn’t—”  
  
“I’m not allergic to bees, Bill,” Siska says, looking up from Romero’s neck. Sisky has the bad habit of staring down at his horse when he rides, which doesn’t upset his balance nearly as much as it should – according to Instructor Bob, at least. He steers into the fences a lot, though, and Romero takes advantage, burying his nose in the sweet grass surrounding the posts as often as possible.  
  
“No? Someone else, perhaps.” William could have sworn it was Sisky, though. Huh.  
  
*  
  
William has known Sisky for all of six months. He has known the Butcher for considerably longer than that. This fact has no actual merit, of course, since William is much closer to Sisky, somehow, than he is to Butcher. At some point, William is sure they’d all gone to school together, but William is a clever nineteen now and Sisky is on the cusp of his senior year, and Butcher has no age, as far as William can tell. He’s a Shorty on Wednesdays and Saturdays and Sisky is the only one who ever has any idea where he is outside the stables – and he never ever tells. William likes to imagine he’s a crime-fighting superhero, only he can’t picture Butcher in anything other than his riding jeans or those hot pink short-shorts he wore to 4th of July.  
  
It’s a Thursday, and William is in dire need of the Butcher. They are leaving the _very next day_ on their Instructor Bob led adventure, and there are important matters to see to.  
  
“Sisky,” William says, throwing an arm about his shoulders, “I would not hesitate to call you one of my very best friends.”  
  
“I’m not sleeping with you,” Sisky says, shrugging him off. His cheeks are delightfully red, and William wants to nuzzle them.  
  
“Oh no. No, that is not my intention at all,” William says, although the seed has been planted, and he eyes Sisky with an interested air. Adam is quite the catch, now that he’s no longer sporting his horrendously ill-advised mop of curls. They didn’t do anything at all for his face.  
  
Sisky scowls. He looks like an adorably disgruntled puppy. “What do you want, Bill?”  
  
“The whereabouts of one Andy The Butcher Mrotek,” William says, “for the purposes of creating an unstoppable camping team.”  
  
“Are you—what?” Sisky’s brow wrinkles.  
  
“We can’t do it alone, Sisky, and I’ve noticed there’s a glaring Butcher-sized hole in the sign-up sheet.”  
  
“Oh, I.” Sisky fidgets. Sisky never fidgets. He bounces, he bounces almost as much as Brendon, but actual nervous fidgeting is something that William has never seen Siska do. “I’m sure he just. Forgot.”  
  
William arches an eyebrow. Butcher is always entirely too punctual to forget anything, in William’s opinion, but he doesn’t push. Siska’s nervous fidgeting has knocked him slightly off-balance. He doesn’t like it.  
  
“This is most unfortunate,” William says, one eyebrow still climbing up his forehead. He resists the urge to press the tips of his fingers against it and force it back down. “The Alexes might be able to help, I suppose. Or, I’ve grown rather fond of Cash.” Cash is just the right sort of jackass; his antics are fairly endearing.  
  
“Uh. Yeah.”  
  
William purses his lips and stares at Siska.  
  
Siska widens his eyes in his best innocent baby deer impersonation. William’s impressed, if not the least bit fooled. There is something glaringly wrong here.  
  
“I believe a hug is in order,” William announces, because William is a believer in the healing power of hugs. His mother raised him right. “You, dear Sisky, look as though you need a firm set of arms around you.”  
  
Siska holds up his hands. “Dude, I’m fine,” he says, taking a half-step backwards. “Please, no hugs.”  
  
“Oh, it’s too late for protests.” William shakes his head and advances on poor Adam, catching him around the waist and reeling him effortlessly in. Honestly, William may be as substantial as tasty fluff, but Sisky’s barely _existing_. He wraps his arms firmly about him and waits patiently for Siska to melt into his hold, to give in to William’s fantastic hugging skills.  
  
Sisky sighs into his neck.  
  
“There now,” William says against his temple, “isn’t this pleasing? Are you sniffing my hair?”  
  
“No,” Siska says, voice muffled. His nose is tickling right below William’s ear.  
  
William is one hundred percent positive Siska is sniffing his hair. This, William thinks, is an unexpected development.  
  
*  
  
“Adam T. Siska.”  
  
Mike looks up from the leather bridle he’s vigorously soaping. “Yeah? What about him?”  
  
Michael elbows him in the head. “Don’t be dense, Carden. This’s got to be about Siska’s _thing_. You know.”  
  
Mike snickers. “His thing?”  
  
William eyes them both warily. Mike and Michael Guy are the most informed guys at Monroeville – other than Frank, but William doesn’t want to broach Frank with this, because Frank has an enormous gossipy mouth – and William has approached them for the express purpose of straightening out this Sisky business.  
  
William can’t have Sisky sniffing his hair. It’ll ruin everything, he’s sure of it. “Adam T. Siska,” William says, “has been stealthily scenting my person.”  
  
“Billy,” Michael says, nodding, “so you’re finally catching on. Good for you.”  
  
Michael Guy is from Australia. Normally, William is delighted by his accent, but now William scowls, and wishes Michael Guy had never mysteriously appeared one day, battered duffle on one shoulder, guitar strapped to his back, and he wishes Gerard had never been charmed into giving him a job. Michael Guy is unhelpful.  
  
“Truly,” William says, wagging a finger at him, “truly, you’re being extremely unhelpful.”  
  
Mike snorts, and Michael rolls his eyes. “Siska,” Michael says, “has been sniffing around you for the better part of six months, mate.”  
  
“No he hasn’t,” William says. That is definitely something William would have noticed. William is always aware of his surroundings.  
  
“’Fraid so,” Michael says.  
  
William glances at Mike to confirm, and Mike just nods, wide smirk stretching his mouth.  
  
“Well.” William’s knees go distressingly weak, and he plops down on the bench next to Mike. “This just won’t do.”  
  
“Why not? You’re practically joined at the hip as it is.”  
  
“ _Butcher_ and Sisky are joined at the hip,” William protests.  
  
“Butcher’s been busy stalking Johnson,” Michael says. “Butcher’s dating Jenny.”  
  
“And Kitty.”  
  
Michael nods. “And Kitty, right. It’s going to be spectacular when they all find out about each other. Carden and me can’t wait.”  
  
“I’ve got a bet riding on Johnson being the only one left standing,” Mike says.  
  
William finds all this information intriguing, of course, but none of it actually has anything to do with Siska, and William’s problem with Siska, and the fact that he very well can’t seduce Instructor Bob with this hanging over their heads. Siska would likely never forgive him.  
  
“I’m doomed,” William says. He taps his fingers on his thighs, cuts his teeth onto his lower lip. “There’s the small matter of my grand love for Instructor Bob, you know.”  
  
Mike jostles his arm. “Bob’s totally been banging the farrier, dude, where the hell have you been?”  
  
William really hates it when he’s pathetically uninformed. He blames his loser friends. Gabe and Travie have failed him epically.  
  
*  
  
There’s actually nothing wrong with Siska. His body is well-formed. He’s sweet, if slightly goofy. He’s always up to humoring William’s whims and moods. He’s been a joy to have in William’s class, overall, and William’s well and truly glad the Butcher had introduced them. William is unsure if this means he should abandon his quest for Instructor Bob, though.  
  
When he thinks about it, Mike and Michael, while inarguably knowledgeable about the everyday soap that is Monroeville Farms, have been known to exaggerate. Like when all those juicy rumors about Spencer Smith and Jonny Walker turned out to be completely false. So perhaps they merely spotted Instructor Bob having a friendly, innocent _chat_ with Hoof Guy Brian, involving no sucking face at all.  
  
“Are we absolutely sure there are no bears?” William asks above the din of students getting ready for their ride out.  
  
“Yes, Bill,” everyone choruses. Entirely too churlish, if you ask William. He just wants to make sure he’s prepared for every contingency. Surprise bear attacks are nothing to sneeze at.  
  
Gabe grins at him from over Diablo’s back.  
  
William frowns at him, but it doesn’t last very long. It’s nearly impossible to stay mad at Gabe for any length of time.  
  
There’s a small group of Hushies huddled by the stable entrance, saying goodbye to their parents. Greta, William is pleased to note, is one of them, as well as little Chris and Robert, and wee sullen Darren, who is not actually allowed out on the trail with them, due to the cast currently immobilizing his left arm.  
  
When everyone has their bedrolls and bags looped onto their saddles, William makes sure he’s near the front of the line, snug between Siska and Gabe. Greta, on Sinjin, is just behind Instructor Bob – who’s looking handsome in a t-shirt for once; he’s notorious for sporting hoodies, even in the dead heat of summer - and just in front of Siska, and William is fairly satisfied with the way the day is shaping up.  
  
They’re all in high spirits, the early morning air crisp and fresh. It’ll be steamy later, the overabundance of dewy grass foretells it, but that doesn’t matter now. Patrick starts a campfire song as they head out, and for once Vicky doesn’t even complain.  
  
Sisky shoots William a smile over his shoulder just as they all step into the woods, dark, leafy trees framing his head, short curls tufting out over his ears – he’s in dire need of a haircut, lest it grow into Sideshow Bob proportions again – and William suddenly thinks: yes. Yes, it is entirely possible that William could date Siska, and that it’d be a highly pleasant experience. Even if it means giving up on Instructor Bob.  
  
William smiles back.  
  
*  
  
“I, dear Sisky,” William says just after lunch, stuffing his napkin in his mug and sitting it on the ground at his feet, “have decided that we should date.” He frowns. “I suppose I’ll have to call you Adam now, though. It’ll take some getting used to, but I’m not completely opposed to the idea.”  
  
Siska gapes at him soundlessly. Poor guy is probably frozen with pure glee.  
  
William drapes an arm over his shoulders and squeezes him up against his side. “This’ll be fun.”  
  
“Bill.” Siska squirms against him. William’s arm slips off, and he braces it in the mossy dirt behind them. “Bill,” Siska says again, “what the _fuck_?”  
  
William’s brow wrinkles. “I’m asking you out. I have it on good authority that you’re fond of me. Although, the hair sniffing sort of tipped me off.”  
  
“Bill, I wasn’t—” He jumps to his feet and flaps his arms around. “I never _smelled_ your _hair_.”  
  
“Oh, but you did.”  
  
“Bill.” Siska pinches the bridge of his nose. “I—we can’t. What about Bob?”  
  
“Instructor Bob doesn’t seem to care that my hair carries the fine aroma of peaches bathed in honey,” William says. William is wise enough not to bring up Hoof Guy Brian in light of Siska’s current state of agitation.  
  
Siska says, “I, uh. No. Bill, just, _no_.”  
  
“No? But.” William is at a complete _loss_. Something twinges horribly in his chest. “But you like me?” William hates that it comes across as a question, and he blinks rapidly to stave off what feels suspiciously like _tears_. No one, to William’s recollection, has ever flat out told him _no_ before.  
  
Siska rubs his hand over the back of his neck, head bowed. “It’s not a big deal, Bill. If you need a date so badly—fucking ask _Cash_ , all right? I don’t care.”  
  
William has no idea what’s going on. “Cash?” he asks, stunned. What does Cash have to do with anything at all?  
  
“Look,” Sisky says, feet fidgeting, still refusing to meet Williams eyes, “I’m gonna go hang out with Jon for a while.”  
  
William watches him walk away, watches the way he hunches into himself, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Well, William thinks, shit.  
  
*  
  
William is an oblivious ball of misery for the rest of the ride up the mountain. Poncho seems to be mirroring his mood, and doesn’t even once flick his head around to try for the hem of William’s jeans.  
  
He barely registers when they stop for the night. After dinner, they all laze about around the campfire and William settles down between Travie and Gabe and sighs heavily. He’s very upset. It doesn’t make any sense, seeing as how he’d only recently set his sights on Siska, but he’s still very, very upset.  
  
“I’m very upset,” William says, staring down at his hands.  
  
“Dude.” Travie tucks William under his arm and presses a firm and loving kiss to his forehead.  
  
William curls his fingers into Travie’s shirt and closes his eyes.  
  
*  
  
It starts pouring halfway down the mountain on their way back home the next day. William does not think this camping trip can get any fucking worse, and then, of course, it does.  
  
Sinjin loses her footing on a muddy slope, and disappears with Greta over the edge.  
  
William has never considered himself a brave soul, but one minute he’s atop Poncho, pushing rain-soaked hair out of his eyes, and the next he’s on the ground and following the destructive swath Sinjin’s cut from the mountainside. He ignores the concerned shouts behind him and plunges onward.  
  
It’s hard to see through the heavy fall of rain and William’s boots get stuck more than once in the cloying mud, but he manages to reach a sobbing Greta in no time – she’s latched onto Sinjin’s neck, and Sinjin is on her knees, snorting deep breaths through her nose. Sinjin shakes her head and William grabs for Greta just as Sinjin stumbles unsteadily to her feet. The mare shifts, noses the nearest sapling, and seems relatively okay. Shaken, but not seriously hurt.  
  
Greta’s clinging to William, and William hitches her higher in his arms and says, almost breathless, “Well. That was an adventure.”  
  
Greta hiccups, crying against William’s neck, and he rubs circles on her back with his palm. “It’s fine, you’re fine,” he says in his most soothing tone of voice, the tone of voice he uses whenever Vicky-T flies into a rage.  
  
William doesn’t remember taking very long to reach Greta, but when he looks back up the hill, he can’t see anyone at all. He can hear them, though, and above the muted roar of teeming rain, Instructor Bob shouts, “Don’t move,” and William has no intention of moving. He’s not entirely certain he can, anyway. There’s a distinct possibility that he’s wrenched his ankle on the way down – he hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he’s got dear sweet Greta safe against him, his left foot has started to throb suspiciously.  
  
He wants to sit, but he’s unsure if he can get back up again.  
  
Greta clutches the collar of his t-shirt in her tiny fists and William’s relieved to see that she’s calmed down some. He ducks his head down to press their cheeks together and Greta says, barely a whisper, “Bills. Bills, I want my mommy.”  
  
William, after the past two days he’s had, wants his mommy, too.  
  
*  
  
William is fond of being waited on, but he absolutely hates being an invalid. It’s entirely unfair that he’s contracted a cold on top of everything else.  
  
“This is entirely unfair,” William tells Gabe.  
  
“Here,” Gabe says cheerily, shoving a tissue at him, “you’ve got snot.”  
  
William narrows his eyes. “Thank you.” William is in a bad mood and Gabe is being a jackass, but that’s no reason to abandon all social niceties. And William does indeed have snot. He blows his nose and sinks lower into the couch, tugging the blanket up to his chin.  
  
“William, dear, you have a visitor,” William’s mother calls out from the front of the house, and then there’s a tiny, adorable whirlwind and Greta is throwing herself on top of William with a high-pitched, “Bills!”  
  
William catches her about the waist and snuggles her into the afghan with him. “Where did you come from, imp?” he asks, tugging lightly on one of her pigtails.  
  
Greta just grins at him, cheeks pink.  
  
There’s a distinctive throat-clearing from the doorway, and William glances up to see Siska. Siska, who very forcibly turned him down just scant days ago, and then proceeded to ignore him and shower all his attention on Jon Walker – who is happily _taken_ , and by a girl, no less – and is currently not one of William’s favorite persons at all.  
  
William frowns and says, “Greta, my love, you have brought forth my greatest enemy. I’m not sure I can forgive you.” He tweaks her nose.  
  
Greta giggles.  
  
Sisky rolls his eyes.  
  
Gabe stretches his abnormally long legs and gets to his feet. “Greta,” Gabe says, extending a hand, “want to go help me eat all of Bill’s cookies?”  
  
Greta pats the side of William’s head before sliding off the couch. She says, “I’ll save one, Bills,” and William nods solemnly and says, “How very gracious of you, Miss Salpeter,” and then Greta’s skipping out of the room, Gabe at her heels.  
  
Gabe winks at him over his shoulder before he disappears into the kitchen. Gabe is a sneaky, evil bastard at times. William probably shouldn’t find that as sexy as he does.  
  
William crosses his arms over his chest. “Well?” he says.  
  
Sisky drops down onto the couch next to him and sighs. He says, “You’re kind of amazing,” and the words would be music to William’s ears if he didn’t sound so horribly put out about it. Like William being amazing is the worst thing in the entire world.  
  
William huffs. “Really.”  
  
“If I agree to a date,” Siska says, and William perks up a little, caring not a whit if he seems eager, “you can’t sleep with Gabe anymore. Or Travis.”  
  
William’s brow furrows.  
  
“Or Cash,” Sisky says, and William throws up his hands.  
  
“What’s the deal with Cash? Cash is fourteen, Adam. I don’t know exactly what you think of me, but I’d hardly seduce a baby. This is troublesome.” Most troublesome, William thinks. Sisky is practically accusing him of being a sexual deviant.  
  
“No, it isn’t,” Siska says.  
  
“You’re the one going around sniffing people’s hair, like some sort of hair-sniffing pervert,” William says, pouting. He tips his head onto Sisky’s shoulder. It’s entirely because it’s aching him, and not at all because Siska is Siska, and overtly awesome when he isn’t busy spurning William’s earnest advances.  
  
“Bill.”  
  
“And, I’ll have you know, I’ve never cheated on any of my significant others.” It’s highly insulting that Siska would think that he _did_.  
  
“I never said—”  
  
“And I don’t want Gabe or Travie.” If he did, he would have no trouble at all holding onto them. Gabe and Travie are both delightfully sweet on him. “Or Instructor Bob,” William adds. He’s not surprised to find he’s speaking the complete truth. Instructor Bob is sexy and intriguing, but he’s not for William.  
  
Siska snorts. “Because of Brian.”  
  
“No, no,” William says. “No.”  
  
“No?” Sisky sounds slightly amused by his vehemence, but William forgives him.  
  
“No,” William repeats firmly. “Because of you.”


End file.
